


The Ghosts that We Knew

by noxfauna, ravenlowe



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, Frottage, M/M, Mild Gore, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxfauna/pseuds/noxfauna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenlowe/pseuds/ravenlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullrian Mini-Bang Entry for team 42.  Prompt:  Honnleath.</p><p>Many towns abandoned after the blight have their fair share of secrets.  The trouble with secrets is:  they attract even more trouble.</p><p>When the Inquisition's forces are already spread too thin, Cullen volunteers to investigate rumors of demonic activity in his childhood home.  Unwilling to let the commander of his forces go alone, the Inquisitor spares Dorian as well for the assignment, unaware, or very, very, aware, that Cullen has been harboring a crush on the mage.</p><p>A story by RavenLowe with Art by Noxfauna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghosts that We Knew

 

_Now:_

 

The sound that Cullen makes as Dorian takes advantage of his open mouth is a thready, needy, whine that’s foreign to Cullen’s own ears.  That can’t be him making that noise, can it?  Dorian drags his tongue across the roof of Cullen’s mouth, his mustache tickles at Cullen’s cheeks, and Cullen decides that yes, it can and is him making that sound.

His sweat-soaked fingers leave trails in the grime that’s built up on Dorian’s shoulder, as Cullen crowds the mage back against the wall.  They’re rutting like teenagers in the hollowed out remains of Cullen’s childhood home, and part of Cullen knows that something about this isn’t quite right, but his body is thrumming with energy and heat.  The air between them feels thick and Cullen’s head is spinning but when Dorian reels him in for another kiss, he doesn’t resist.

__________

 

 _Then_ :

“Our final order of business today, is Honnleath.”

Cullen’s head jerks upwards from the trebuchet specifications that he was engrossed in.  “Honnleath?”

“Yes, it seems we have a petition from Arl Teagan in relation to the resettlement of the village.”  Josephine passes Cullen the missive as she continues to explain.  “They have had some trouble resettling the area.  He’s enclosed a series of incidents.”

Cullen scans through them as the others continue to talk it out.

“Arl Teagan again? Isn’t this a matter for the crown of Ferelden?  It seems as it should be a problem for the crown of Ferelden.”  The Inquisitor runs a hand over his face and shakes his head.

“Normally, I would agree, Inquisitor, but the list of incidents..”

Josephine trails off, leaving Cullen to read from the list.  “Survivors report that ‘the air itself seems tainted’.  They complain of ‘spirits that cause uncontrollable rages, and illnesses that disappear as suddenly as they set on’.”

“The _survivors_ report?”

Cullen bites his bottom lip as he passes the missive along to the Inquisitor.  “The Bann writes that of the twenty-six that set off from Redcliffe, only five returned.  One..ah, killed himself soon after, and the others were in barely any condition to report at all.”

The Inquisitor is grim as he looks the letter over for himself, and Cullen has to swallow down the bile that’s building up in the back of his throat.  The very thought that something so horrible as to inspire suicide is lingering in his childhood home it’s, well, horrible.  The only boon is that as far as Cullen is aware, the remains of his family are safe in South Reach.  Perhaps, it is time for another letter.

“That is disturbing, but we are already stretched so thin.  There is only so much we can do, and this should be something left to Ferelden.”

It hurts, but the Inquisitor is right.  New refugees are arriving daily, and they’re in the process of following Hawke’s leads about the Wardens to the Western Approach.  “Is there nothing we can do?”  The words slip from Cullen’s mouth despite himself, and he flushes under the attention they draw him.  He’s not normally one to risk resources where they’re not needed, and his consideration now seems to bring them up short.

“Perhaps we could spare a scout?  Arl Teagan would owe us a favor, should we help him with this matter.”

Leliana shakes her head.  “The only scouts I would trust with such a matter are already afield.  Besides, we would be exposing whoever we sent to the same thing that drove those people mad.”

“It could be demonic in nature, though,” Cullen presses.  “You reported that the rift in Crestwood was raising the dead.  Perhaps this is a similar case?”

“Or it could be the taint, lingering,” the Inquisitor adds with a frown.  “You did say that the town was abandoned during the Blight?”

“Yes, Inquisitor.  The town was overrun with darkspawn from the south.  There were few survivors.”

Cullen’s brother and sisters among them, _thank the Maker_.  He will forever mourn the loss of his parents while he was not there to protect them, but he is still _so_ _thankful_ that his siblings survived.

“If Crestwood was safe, then Honnleath should be as well,” Cullen reasons.

The Inquisitor’s stare is heavy and considering, but Cullen doesn’t shirk under the weight of the gaze.  “This is important to you.”

The comment startles Cullen.  There’s no reason for it to be; not really.  He left Honnleath as a child and never had the time to look back, but that doesn’t change his reply.  “It is.  I..I’ll go myself, if I must.”  Cullen is startled again, but this time by his own words.  Yes, he meant to admit that the town was important to him, but to volunteer for the mission himself?  It’s too late to take the words back now.

The Inquisitor shakes his head, resigned.  “Very well.  Make the arrangements.  You have two weeks, and take a mage with you. No, take Dorian.  You could both do with the fresh air.  He found some ancient, dusty library down under a corridor somewhere, and I don’t think he’s seen the light of day since.  Whatever you do, don’t risk yourselves.  Not over this.  If you find something more than the two of you can handle alone, you return and we’ll explore our options then.  Satisfied?”

“Yes.  Thank you, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor scoffs and shakes his head again, but Cullen can see the hint of smile on his face.  “Well, I’m glad that someone is.  Now, I have a trip of my own to see to.”

He’s still trying to hide his smile as he sweeps from the room, and Cullen takes a moment to marvel how well the scared prisoner they locked up in Haven has taken to his new position of power.  

Leliana comes to Cullen’s side as he’s gathering up the papers he still needs to go through before he can even think about leaving.  “You know, when I said you needed to get out more, this wasn’t what I meant.  Are you sure you want to do this?”

Cullen shakes his head.  “Someone has to.”  And that is that.

  
_________

  
_Now:_

Cullen grunts as Dorian spins them with enough force that part of the burnt remains of wall gives, as Cullen’s back meets it.  The thought of protesting doesn’t even cross his mind.  His own fingers are curling into the straps of Dorian’s clothing, and when the buckles prove to require too much dexterity, he rips and shreds at the cloth.

“That’s right, _Commander_ ,” Dorian growls into his lips.  “You want me, you take what you want.”

Oh, how Cullen wants.  He’s blind and clumsy with it. This kind of want; he never even knew he could feel this way.  It’s something animalistic and beyond reason.

 _It’s wrong_.

_________

  
_Then:_

Three days into their journey and Cullen is sore.  It’s only recently that he’s had to spend much time on horseback.  He can only thank the Maker that he hasn’t managed to unseat and embarrass himself in front of Dorian.  Dorian, upon whom Cullen is fairly sure he’s harboring a crush.  Cullen is also fairly sure that the Inquisitor sent Dorian along for exactly that reason.

The meddler.

They make an odd couple-- Tevinter mage and former templar-- but there’s something about Dorian that draws Cullen in.  At first, it was a mutual appreciation for chess.  Cullen was a bit rusty at first, but before long he was able to hold his own against Dorian; and then, even win.  Of course Dorian is a horrible cheat, but that only makes the game more interesting.

Chess led to conversation and conversation led to admiration.  Dorian has such a strong sense of self, it’s hard not to admire him.  Cullen has stopped short of telling the man as much, because if there’s anything that doesn’t need stroking, it’s Dorian’s ego.  There are other parts of him that Cullen might not mind stroking so much, and _no.  Maker no._  He isn’t going to think that way.

Admiration and attraction, or not, there’s one blazing fact that still stands in the forefront of Cullen’s mind: he doesn’t deserve Dorian.

Cullen, who has presided over Harrowings, who has watched innocent mages be made tranquil, who has been broken and remade with some of the pieces missing, has no business touching a mage, particularly Dorian who..who is giving him a concerned look and calling his name because Cullen is letting his horse drift off the path.

“Sorry.  My mind wandered,” Cullen hastens to explain, as he rights his course.

Dorian raises a sardonic eyebrow.  “What?  Was the tale of my great triumph not thrilling enough for you?”

“Oh no, “ Cullen drawls in return.  He tries to match Dorian’s humor, but he’s flushing at being caught thinking of Dorian in a more than friendly matter.  “I was so enthralled by your story, that I just couldn’t think of anything else.”

Dorian’s lips curl upwards and he drops his gaze.   _Maker_ that look.  How can Cullen be expected to keep his composure in the face of that?  “Well, I can hardly blame you.  Those pants were rather fetching on me.  It’s a shame that they got ruined over the course of the evening.  There are some stains that even magic cannot remove.”

Cullen sputters at that.  “I must have missed that part of your story.”

“I didn’t tell it.”  The corners of Dorian’s lips tick upwards.  “I don’t kiss and tell, though for you, Commander, I might consider a little show and tell.”

Dorian flirts with man and woman alike without any intention of bedding them, so Cullen tries not to take his words personally.  He has to remember that despite how he might wish otherwise, Dorian doesn’t mean anything by it.  His libido is harder to convince when Dorian is leering at him just so.  Cullen has to look away before he embarrasses himself.  The disappointed fall of Dorian’s face as Cullen turns is a product of his imagination.

There’s a moment of silence as Cullen wills his body to follow his brain’s commands.  Dorian is the one to break it.  “I admit that I was surprised when you asked me to accompany you on this errand.  Aren’t you a little important to be doing grunt work?”

“We all do our part,”  Cullen hedges.  Truth be told, Cullen still doesn’t know how to explain why he volunteered to do this.  There were far more important things he could be doing for the Inquisition than scouting out the ruined remains of a village.  “Well, that’s not it.  Not in this case.  The Inquisitor granted me the assignment as a favor.  The village we’re traveling to, Honnleath, is the village I grew up in.”

Dorian looks delighted at that.  Cullen rarely offers up bits of his past, even though he knows Dorian’s first words, and the name of his childhood stuffed fennec.  There’s so much of Cullen’s past that he is ashamed of, that he tends to keep it all to himself, even the bits that were good.

“Your hometown!” he coos, then sobers.  “I’m sure that this isn’t quite the homecoming you were expecting.”  Dorian is sympathetic, but curious as he directs his horse closer to Cullen’s.  They’re riding practically thigh to thigh.

“I didn’t expect any homecoming at all.  After the blight I was..cracked, and after Kirkwall, I was ashamed.  I didn’t know how to face them, and now, for my parents at least, I’ll never have that chance.  My siblings made it to South Reach.  Somehow, Mia keeps tracking me down and sending letters.”  Cullen even answers them, infrequently.  He still doesn’t feel worthy of their concern.

“My family has moved on, and I’ve spent more time abroad than I did in Honnleath.  This place should not mean so much, but for some reason I couldn’t let it go.  I may not want to return myself, but it wasn’t a bad place to grow up.  I was happy here, and perhaps in the future, someone else might be as well.”

Dorian sighs.  “It’s a worthy goal to say the least.  Whatever else has happened in your life, it’s obvious that you still care for this town.  It’s only right that you don’t want to see the place of your childhood tainted.”  There’s a longing in Dorian’s voice that draws Cullen’s eyes.  Dorian is staring down the road in front of them with such a wistfulness that it’s obvious that he isn’t speaking about Honnleath at all, but of Tevinter.

Whatever Cullen’s, and the rest Thedas’, feelings about Tevinter, Dorian holds his home in high regard.  Cullen thinks he can understand that feeling a little better now.  He carefully leans over and reaches across the space between them to squeeze Dorian’s shoulder.  “Perhaps someday you will return home as well, though hopefully under better circumstances than this.”

Dorian’s eyes glance down to where Cullen’s thumb is resting against his bare skin, and Cullen flushes then pulls away.  Before he can retreat completely, Dorian captures Cullen’s fingers with his own and gives them a squeeze.  He.   _What_.  That’s well..that’s..

“Oh, I will,” Dorain drawls, with such conviction that it pulls Cullen from his mental ramblings.  “And, since you’re dragging me to the ass-end of Ferelden, the least you can do is come along with me to my own homecoming.”

 _What_?  Cullen blinks.  “Me?  What would _I_ do in _Tevinter_?”

“Cause a sensation, I’m sure,” Dorian leers.

Cullen has absolutely no want to go to Tevinter, but he thinks that if Dorian keeps looking at him that way, he’ll agree to anything.”When this is all over, if you still want me to accompany you, I’ll go.”

Seems that that’s the right thing to say.  Dorian stops so short that he pulls his mount to a halt.  Cullen slows down at a more gradual pace then turns in the path to face him.  “Dorian?”

“That’s it?”  Dorian is incredulous.  “Just like that?  You’ll go with me if I want you to go, no questions asked?”

“What questions do you want me to ask?”

 

“I don’t know, but I feel like there should be questions.  The Inquisitor would ask questions.”

 

Cullen lets out a snort that has Dorian snickering.  “I’m not the Inquisitor, and you already know that I hold you in high regard.”  He nudges his mount back into motions, and a few moments later, he can hear Dorian do the same.  They draw back together side by side.

“You might want to stop spoiling me, Commander.  You’ll never get rid of me that way.”

“Who said that I wanted to?”

_______  
  
_Now:_

The thought hits Cullen like a landside. _Wrong.  This is wrong._

His fingers slip as they try to find purchase on Dorian’s shoulders, and instead of moving away, Dorian presses closer.  He bites down on Cullen’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and the flash of pain paired with the coppery taste are enough to give Cullen newfound strength to fight.  He stops trying to hold on to Dorian and pushes him away instead.  Hard.

Dorian stumbles back, then topples over with the force of it.  He doesn’t look upset or hurt as Cullen imagines Dorian would if he were pushed away so violently.  Instead, he looks ready to jump up and tear Cullen’s throat out with his teeth.  “Cullen,”  Dorian growls.  “What in the Maker’s na--”

“Silence,” Cullen roars.  “I don’t know who or what you are, but you are not Dorian Pavus!  What have you done with him?”

________

_Then:_

They reach the burnt posts that were once part of Honnleath’s gates, just after midday.  Despite the mild weather they enjoyed during the trip, there’s a chill that settles in, the closer they get to the village.  It makes Cullen uncomfortable, even in his furs and armor, and Dorian is shivering.  A bit of wet chill isn’t uncharacteristic for southern Ferelden, but this is something different.

“Has the place always been so depressing?”  Dorian’s trying to be droll about it, but Cullen can tell that he’s uncomfortable.  

The clouds overhead are thicks and dark, and the small bits of sunlight that do peek through them create long shadows cast from the charred remains of what was once a robust village.  Even what is left of the gates seems to loom down upon them.  

“No,” Cullen says into the quiet, that seems to swallow their voices.  “This isn’t right at all.”

Dorian makes a considering hum and runs his hand over a charred wood post. “This does remind me a bit of Crestwood.  Any nearby lakes for a rift to be hiding under?  Dirty secrets from the town leadership that need unearthing?”

“Yes, to the lake, but let’s check out the village first.” Cullen isn’t ready to go to the lake that had once been his place of solace and find it tainted.  Not yet. “There should be the supplies that the settlers from Redcliffe left behind, and perhaps we can get a better idea of what happened to them.”

“Very well.”  Dorian nods and tries to nudge his horse forward, but the animal refuses to move.  “Come now, Buttercup.  Now’s not the time to be stubborn.”

The horse doesn’t budge, so Cullen tries to direct his own between the gateposts.  His stallion takes a few steps forward then rears back, surprising Cullen and throwing him from the saddle.

 

“ _Kaffas_!”  Cullen can hear Dorian curse before his back impacts with the ground.  The breath is knocked out of his lungs and his vision goes white.  When it clears, Dorian is leaning down over him with a concerned frown that is so sweet, Cullen almost makes the mistake of smiling up at him.  “Maker, Cullen!  Are you hurt?”  He runs his fingers down Cullen’s neck looking for a break.  Dorian’s fingers are spots of warmth against Cullen’s chilled skin, and Cullen can’t stop himself from leaning into the touch.

Despite that little slip in his willpower, Cullen is fine.  This isn’t the first time he’s been thrown, and unless a miracle happens, it won’t be the last.  “Only my pride.  How are the horses?”

Dorian huffs and moves back so Cullen can sit up.  “They’re terrified, but fine.  I managed to grab the reins of your monster before he bolted.  A rider of your _talent_ would do better to pick a mild mannered mare, than that beast.”

“Thank the Maker, and he’s not a beast, he’s just _spirited_.”   He has a few new bruises for his trouble, but his armor took the brunt of the impact.

“No, thank _me_ ,” Dorian pouts.  “Preferably with foot rubs upon return to Skyhold.”

“Alright, if that’s how you want rewarded for your heroics,” Cullen agrees, without much thought to it.  His easy agreement draws a startled gaze from Dorian, and only then does Cullen think of what he just said.  He flushes, predictably, and tries to cover his blunder by pushing himself to his feet.

“I do,” is the only reply he gets, as Dorian turns away to tend to the horses.  They fall silent after that, the oppressive atmosphere somehow adding to the awkwardness of the boundaries of their friendship being blurred.

Dorian ties up the horses as Cullen shakes off the stiffness from his fall, then together they unpack their supplies to hide them away from prying eyes.  While the Inquisition has made great strides in making the Hinterlands safe again, this far out there is still the threat of bandits, if not rebel mages and templars.  They’re taking a chance, leaving everything here, but there’s nothing to be done for it.

They take their time with it, until Cullen realizes that he’s fidgeting with something that should have taken him seconds to pack away.  He’s stalling, and he has no idea why.  Cullen wants to get to the bottom of what happened to these settlers.  He wants to make this town safe again, but at the same time, he wants to turn on his heel and walk away in the other direction.

He’s felt something like this before, but he can’t put his finger on it.

He looks over to Dorian, and by some silent agreement they stand, and begin to follow the patch into the village.  Little of Honnleath is left other than ash and rubble, but Cullen can see the buildings that used to stand, overlayed over the debris.  So little changed before it was purged.  It’s like stepping back in time; even with the chill that runs down Cullen’s spine.

There’s nothing but silence as they walk, but Cullen draws his sword and readies his shield.  He’s fought demons before.  He’s been near a rift.  Whatever is going on here doesn’t feel the same, at all.

He nearly drops both as they step into the carnage that is the town square.  “Sweet Maker,” he curses.

Dorian echoes with his own, “ _Venhedis_.”

The square where the great statue once was stood looks like a battlefield.  The bodies of the missing settlers litter the field, and though it’s been weeks, the ground is still red with soaked blood.

Dorian is frowning, as Cullen manages to tear his eyes away from the scene.  “This is wrong.  It should...these bodies have been left in the elements for weeks, but they look as if they died mere hours ago.  The _smell_ should be unbearable.”  

He steps forward intent on checking on the bodies, and Cullen follows, wary.  Whatever caused this could still be nearby, and as much as he wants to understand what happened, he won’t risk their safety.  They never should have come here.

It’s so quiet that even the sound of their breathing sounds thunderous.

Dorian moves from body to body, his frown deepening with every step, and Cullen follows while wishing there was something he could do to ease that frown.  “This isn’t..look at this Cullen.  This was no demon attack, nor undead; I would wager it.”

Cullen does look, and he is again struck with the eerie feeling that he has seen this before.  He shakes his head, and tries to focus, then wishes he hadn’t.  “I see it.”  He struggles to even voice it, but the evidence is there in front of him, blood smeared across faces and trapped under nails paired with the corresponding gouges in skin and muscle; the settlers had killed each other.  “They didn’t even use weapons.”

He’s never seen Dorian so pale, and Cullen reaches forward to squeeze the mage’s shoulder.  Dorian jumps at the contact then stands and faces Cullen so his back is to the massacre.  “What could drive men, women, and even children to tear at each other with this kind of mindless violence?”

Cullen has an answer to that, though he refuses to voice it.  Long gone are the days that he sees a blood mage around every corner, but this..not even the Taint causes people to act this way.

When Cullen doesn’t answer, Dorian does it for him.  “Blood magic.  We need to be wary.”

Cullen is relieved to hear that it’s not his own paranoia supplying an answer, and he almost voices as much, when something else catches his eye.  “Dorian, look.”  He nods his head, and Dorian turns, but shakes his head.

“At what?  The bodies?  I’ve already seen those, thank you.”

“No, the house.”  Cullen has to bite back a laugh, because trust Dorian to be snarky even at a moment like this.  Beyond the square, between two burnt out husks, is a single home standing just as pristine as the day it was built.  The building isn’t even singed, and Cullen figures he knows a little about why.  “That’s old Wilhelm’s house.  He was a _mage_ that fought by King Maric in the Rebellion.”

“A Southern mage allowed to live outside the circle.  Fancy that,” Dorian drawls, as he begins to pick his way through his bodies.  “How did he die?   _Accidental_ _death_ by local Templar?”

Cullen snorts.  “No.  If local rumor is to be believed, he was killed by the statue that used to stand in the center of town.  I wonder what happened to it.”

“No matter,” Dorian shakes his head after they approach the door.  “Oh, there _is_ something about this home.”  He sounds excited, but Cullen can tell that it isn’t genuine.  They’re both shaken about what’s happened here.  “Something that tingles beyond the wards, which I will have to break if we want to get inside.”

Cullen is unsure, but the house _is_ their only lead.  He bites down on his bottom lip, and wonders if they should just return to Skyhold then return with a larger party.  The Inquisitor had been specific in his orders on what to do if Cullen felt that they were in over their heads.  They weren’t to risk themselves over a favor.

But, no.  These people deserved justice, and if they left now, it may never happen.  If the culprit really is a blood mage, they could move on at any time.  He and Dorian are just going to have to make do.  “Do it,” he orders, and Dorian grins.

“I’d say stay and watch, because I do so love it when eyes are on me, but this might take me a while.  Perhaps you should see to the horses and our effects?”

 

“And take care of the bodies,” Cullen adds as he turns to look back over the square.  All of these innocent people dead, and for what end?  What did they do to deserve such violence, other than have the hope that they could start a new life?  It isn’t fair.

_______

 _Now_ :

The thing wearing Dorian’s face cocks it’s head to the side and pouts.  The look is so petulant and _Dorian_ that Cullen’s heart aches, but there’s a malice in those grey eyes that Dorian just isn’t capable of.  “What’s the matter, templar?  Decide that you don’t want to sully yourself with a mage?”

“That isn’t it at all,” Cullen denies.  He knows that it’s not Dorian saying these things, but it doesn’t stop the punch to the gut he gets from hearing _those_ words from _that_ mouth.  Cullen has changed.  He has, and he will spend the rest of his life proving that to Dorian, if the mage will only give him the chance.  “You’re not Dorian.”

The thing pulls itself to it’s feet.  “Fight me then!” the false Dorian roars before lightning arcs from its staff.

Cullen’s sword is in his hand, though he doesn’t remember drawing it.  Still, he rolls to the side, letting the bolt strike against the wall, where just moments before they’d been..

Best not to think of that now.

“But what if I am him?  What if you cut into me and he bleeds?  What will you tell your lover then?”

“We’re not lovers.”

The illusion grins, triumphant.  “Oh, but how you wish you were.  How you ache for his touch.  I felt it, you know. How much do you want him?  How much do you want _me_?  Can you even chance it?  Raise your sword or die!  How much do you trust your own mind?”

Cullen falters.  He does doubt his own mind.  Between the things he’s experienced and the lyrium withdrawal, his judgement can’t always be trusted.  He’s told both Cassandra and the Inquisitor as much.

His head snaps up as laughter reverberates around him and a chill runs up his spine.  Dorian is gone, but Cullen isn’t alone in the closing dark.  In the place the mage once stood, now stands Cullen’s own mother.  She looks as she did the day Cullen left for training.  She could have just stepped right out of his memory.  “No, please.  Not her face.”

“Not my face?” his mother echoes.  “What’s wrong?  Can’t deal with the reminder that you left us here to die?”

His father steps up from behind her, and as much as Cullen wants to throw his arms around them, he’s rooted to the spot.  This shouldn’t be possible.  His parents are dead; they have been for years.  It’s not real.  “You promised to come back to us!”

Before his eyes they’re decaying, and there’s nothing Cullen can do to stop it.  Rips magically appear in cloth and skin alike, and his parents’ blood begins to flow as their eyes fade to a milky white.  “I meant to,” Cullen pleads with them to understand.

“But you didn’t!  You let the Blight take us!”

“Just like you let the blood mages take us,” a new voice chimes in.  Cullen spins to his left to find Solona Amell, as beautiful as she was the day after her Harrowing, and Thomas, a boy who’d taken his final vows the same day as Cullen, approaching him from the dark.  “You said you loved me, but where were you when they struck me down?”

“We were friends, and you watched as they killed me!  You watched all huddled in your corner, praying, and did nothing!”

“I-I did try,” Cullen insists.  Why is this happening?  It’s something straight out of his nightmares.

“You failed,” the spirits all roar.  “You failed us, and you’ll fail the Inquisition, too.”

“No, I won’t! Please!”  Cullen struggles to gather his wits about him, but his head is foggy and the spirits are pressing in.  He grips at his own hair and pulls, desperate to find a way to ground himself, even if that way is through pain.

“Cullen! _Maker, what have they done to you?_ Wake up!”  Dorian’s voice cuts through the fog, though Dorian’s face is no longer among the spirits that are plaguing Cullen.  He spins, but there is only another Kirkwall mage hissing as she reaches out to grab at Cullen.

“This sleeping beauty routine you’re doing, Commander, is fairly ridiculous.  Do they even tell you that tale in Ferelden?  I’ll tell it to you, but you must wake.  I like my audiences captive, but unconscious is a bit much.”

The mage rips at the cloth of Cullen’s mantle, and though he tries to push her away, she’s stronger than she appears.  “Failure!  You don’t deserve to live!  You let us die, and you’ll let them die, too.”

“I WILL NOT!” Cullen growls as he tries to push his way through the spirits, only to find himself surrounded.  “I have made mistakes, and I have failed, but I have learned as well.  I’m sorry I could not save you all, but I will NOT fail them!”

There’s a sea of faces around him.  None of them are Dorian’s, though Cullen can still hear his voice.  “You’re going to be awake when I kiss you, so why don’t you open those beautiful brown eyes of yours?”

“They are open!  Dorian, where are you?”  Cullen is determined to find a way out now; to find his way to Dorian.  The spirits rip at his clothing and tear gashes into his skin with fingers like claws.  Every step becomes harder to take, until Cullen is so bogged down he can’t even move.

“Cullen,” Dorian begs in the distance, and that isn’t right.  Dorian never begs.  “I need you to wake up.  Do you hear me you stupid, endearing Ferelden?  I need you.  I need you to be infuriatingly moral, and to drift off to sleep during our chess matches only to snort yourself awake.  I need you to give me that blank look when I go off on tangents and you have no idea what I’m talking about.  I just need you, but most importantly I need you to fight.  Whatever darkness you’re seeing, fight it, and come back to me so I can kill you myself for turning _me_ into such a sap.”

Cullen struggles against the hands holding him down, stricken by Dorian’s words.  He had no idea that he meant so much to Dorian.  They were friends, yes, but Cullen never could have imagined that his feelings could be reciprocated.  That knowledge changes things, and gives him the strength to do what he must.

He’d vowed after leaving the Order to never use the abilities he learned there against a mage again.  It shouldn’t work at all, as long as it’s been since he’s taken lyrium, but Cullen is out of ideas and he has to try.  He wrenches his eyes closed and looks for that place inside himself where the power used to reside, and _pushes_.

The light that tears from him is so bright that white fills his vision even as his eyes are closed.  The hands holding Cullen down disappear, and _sweet Andraste_ , how it burns through him.  He is being taken apart and remade all at once.  There’s rapture and pain, and then silence.

Someone’s breath hitches and Cullen opens his eyes to find himself blinking up into Dorian’s.  Dorian opens his mouth, surely to make some quip, but Cullen doesn’t give him the time.  He reaches up and pulls Dorian down by the strap that runs across his chest, then presses their lips together.

It isn’t perfect.  Cullen’s body aches, and Dorian seems to be trapped in a state of wide-eyed surprise, but it’s just how it should be.  It’s _real_.

________

_Then:_

It takes Cullen the better part of the afternoon to build a pyre.  Part of that time is spent caring for the horses, but most of it is spent watching Dorian as he paces in front of Wilhelm's home.  The wards must be giving him some trouble.  They’re both affected by the aura that’s settled over the town it seems, because Cullen catches Dorian glancing back at him more than once, as he works.

This isn’t the first time Cullen’s built a funeral pyre of this size, though normally he has help.  No matter how well trained your soldiers are, deaths in battle happen, and you can’t take the bodies with you when you’re months from home.  The first time Cullen stood by a mass funeral pyre, was after the massacre in Kinloch Hold.  He wasn’t well enough to help with the construction, but Gregoir at least allowed him to watch.  

Suitable wood is hard to come by in the burnt out town, but Cullen manages.  The far more gruesome task is moving the bodies.

It’s been unnaturally dark in the town since they arrived, but somehow the shadows grow longer and the sky darker as time passes.  Cullen tries to detach himself from what he’s doing, but he’s too unsettled to do so properly.  The shadows in the town seem to flicker, and more than once he gets distracted by movement in the corner of his eye, but once he turns his head, there’s nothing in sight.

Cullen about jumps out of his skin, when Dorian’s hand comes down heavy on his shoulder as he’s getting ready to move one of the last bodies.  “Maker! Dorian!  A little warning.”

Dorian frowns, even though the words that follow are light, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever managed to sneak up on you.  I do hope you’re more aware on the battlefield.”

“I am.  It’s just this place; it’s-”

“Oppressive?”

Cullen nods, and takes the waterskin that Dorian holds out for him.  It’s a fight not to guzzle the liquid down.  He hadn’t realized that he was working so hard.  In his gut, Cullen knows what this feels like--he’s known it from the moment they walked into town--but still, he’s reluctant to voice it.  How can he trust his judgement on this, when he’s been so blind before?  Instead, he steers the conversation to safer waters.  “How are the wards?”

“Down.  Well, the outer ones.  That house is locked up tighter than Leliana’s corset.  Whatever secrets this town is hiding, I’d lay money that we’ll find answers there.”

“Are you implying that Leliana’s corset is full of secrets?”  Cullen can’t seem to help himself.  His lips quirk upwards as he takes another long gulp from the waterskin.

Dorian smirks in return, and for a moment the brevity breaks the oppressive atmosphere that’s been weighing them down since they got here.  “Of course it is.  So is her hair.”

“I suppose that’s why it’s so shiny.”  For just that moment, it’s as if the horribleness of the day is gone as they delight in each other’s company.  It doesn’t take long for reality to set back in.

Another shadow moves in the corner of Cullen’s vision, and they both spin, hands on their weapons to face it.  Nothing; just as it has been every other time Cullen’s looked.  He shakes his head and tries to relax.  It’s a hard time coming.

“Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?” Dorian drawls as he scans the village square once more.

“And then some,” Cullen agrees.  “Let’s put these settlers to rest, and then we can see about the other lingering ghosts.”

Cullen moves the last of the bodies onto the pyre, then Dorian lights it.  He wishes they could do more for these people, but the damage is already done.  He can only speed them on into the arms of the Maker, and hope that they find peace there.  “ _Draw your last breath my friends.  Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  Rest at the Maker’s right hand, and be forgiven_.”

They stand in silence as the fire blazes against the sunset.  The smell and the smoke makes Cullen’s eyes water, but he doesn’t dare look away.  A touch to his palm makes him jump, and he looks down to find Dorian’s fingers brushing against his own.  Cullen frowns, then looks back up towards the mage, but Dorian’s watching the pyre burn.

After a moment he squeezes Cullen’s fingers then turns to look at Wilhelm’s home.  “You’ve sent them on to rest, Commander, now let’s end this.”

Cullen casts one last gaze to the pyre before turning to retrieve his shield and sword.  “They didn’t deserve this.”

“No one ever does.”

“No, they don’t.”  He approaches Wilhelm’s house with the same grim determination that led him to the Inquisition to begin with, and Dorian at his heels.  Cullen doesn’t know what to expect inside the house, but he’s glad to have Dorian with him.

The door falls open at Cullen’s touch with a long creek that echoes in the otherwise silent village.  Cullen steps inside first, sword drawn and his shield up, but there’s no attack forthcoming.  It’s just a dusty, empty room, for all that it fills him with dread.

Dorian casts a spell, and the room is filled with a soft glow.  “Well, this is a bit anticlimactic.”

Cullen hums in agreement, but casts his gaze to the far reaches of the room, all the same.  Something must be here.  Why else would the house be warded so?

“There’s a hallway in the back corner,” Dorian points out.  “The next set of ward seems to be through there.”  
  
He’s already starting forward, but Cullen gets in his way.  “Come on, Commander.  I made it from Tevinter to Redcliffe all on my lonesome.  I don’t need you going protective on me now.”

“That’s not it.  I just--”

Cullen’s interrupted by the sound of a child crying.  His eyes go wide, as do Dorian’s, as they try to place the source of the sound.  The glow from Dorian’s staff intensifies, but all the light does is lengthen the shadows that surround them.

Had Cullen been a templar in his prime, he might have been able to stop what comes next.  As he is now, his body and mind are weakened by the lack of lyrium, and he never even gets the chance.

“Cullen, watch out!” Dorian yells, even as he begins to cast a barrier, but even that lands too late.  A force spell from seemingly nowhere, flattens Cullen to the ground.  His head catches on the edge of a chair on the way down, and after a flash of pain, everything goes dark.

_______

 _Now:_  
  
Dorian pulls away first.  He brings his fingers up to his lips and stares down at Cullen with wide eyes.  “I’m still dreaming. _Kaffas_ ,” he whispers, then grows angry.  “You couldn’t fool me with violence so now you try sweetness?  I am an _Altus_ you pitiful excuse for a blood mage.  You are outclassed.  Show yourself!”

He stands, and the back of Cullen’s head thunks against the floor as he slides from Dorian’s lap.  Cullen hisses and rubs at it as he sits up.  “You just went to an awful lot of trouble to wake me up, perhaps we can hold off on knocking me out again for a while?”  He might not have been in a physical fight, but Cullen’s body aches as though it had.  “And I’m fairly sure this is real.  I wouldn’t hurt so much if it wasn’t.”

Cullen scowls as Dorian prods at him with his shoe, but the displeasure fades along with Dorian’s determined glare.  He’s never witnessed Dorian looking unsure of himself, before now.  “But you kissed me?”

 _Maker_ , he did.  Cullen flushes and tries to hide it as he pushes himself to his feet.  He’s still in possession of both his sword and shield, thank goodness for small blessings.  Dorian coughs, impatient, and Cullen’s shoulders square.  He’s been pining for long enough.  This might not be the time or place, but for better or for worse, he’s not going to shy away from his feelings any longer.  “I did.”

“Oh,” Dorian blinks, and then his startled look turns into something more sly, and flirty.  “Is there something you want to tell me, Commander?”

“I love you.”  There it’s out.  For the third time in the span of as many minutes Dorian is staring at him slack-jawed, but Cullen doesn’t feel sorry for startling the mage.  If anything, he feels lighter.  His secret is out.  “I have for weeks, if not months.  You’re just so...you.”

“I’m just so me?” Dorian echoes.  Well, never let it be said that Cullen is eloquent when it comes to his emotions.  His point seems to have gotten across, however.  “No, I just..You’re sure?”

The snort escapes before Cullen has the chance to try and suppress it.  It’s just, he’s imagined this conversation so many times since he realized how he felt, and this isn’t going like any of his imaginations.  “Leave it to you to surpass my expectations.  Yes, I’m sure.”  He’s smiling as he says it, and slowly Dorian begins to smile too.

“Well, I suppose that I can hardly blame you.  I am rather loveable, if I do say so myself; which, coincidently, I just did.”

Dorian’s talking around the issue.  Perhaps Cullen read the situation wrong, but no.  Just as Cullen starts to despair,  Dorian steps forward until they’re chest to chest and presses his lips to Cullen’s.  Cullen isn’t sure what it means, but he gladly opens his lips to Dorian.  He’ll take whatever the mage is willing to give him.

A polite cough has them springing apart from each other like guilty schoolchildren.  The blood mage has horrible timing.  He’s a scrawny thing, no older than twenty, though Cullen knows better than to judge power based on size or age.  

“Oh, right.  You,” Dorian curses as Cullen lifts his shield and moves between him and the unknown mage.

“Yes, me,” the mage drawls.  He looks bored, and Cullen has to wonder how long he’s been watching the two of them.  “As happy I am that you seemed to have worked your relationship out, I was wondering if you could maybe leave, or, you know, die.  Your choice.  Either way this place is mine now, and you’re not staying.”

Sweet Andraste save Cullen from petulant mages.  “We’ve already broken through your illusions.  Surrender yourself now, and perhaps the Inquisitor will spare you after your trial.”

It’s Dorian who squawks at Cullen’s ultimatum.  The urge to turn to face him is strong, but Cullen refuses to take his eyes off the blood mage.  “Spare him?  Trial?  Cullen, he’s a blood mage.  You saw what he did to those villagers.  What’s to stop him from doing it to us on the very long trip back to Skyhold?  You’re the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, and a former templar to boot.  I don’t think the Inquisitor will hold it against you this once.”

Cullen wants to.  Every instinct he has is telling him to kill the blood mage, and put an end to this before he summons a demon or addles their minds again.  He knows what blood mages can do, and if nothing else, the mage certainly isn’t showing any remorse at what he did to the settlers.  He seems proud at Dorian’s mention of it, even.

Cullen should, but he can’t.  The mistakes he made in Kirkwall bear down on him, and stay his hand.  “I can’t judge him.  I’m..I _can’t_.”

Dorian opens his mouth to argue, but the blood mage chooses that moment to attack.  Cullen lifts his shield to reflect the spell, then charges forward.  The force of the spell is almost enough to stagger him, but he presses on.  Behind him, Cullen can hear Dorian casting before the recognizable feel of a barrier spell settles over him.

“You will not take this place from me,” the blood mage screams as he cuts at himself.  Blood splashes, and Cullen ducks down behind his shield, lest any of it get on him.  From the corner of a room, there’s a low groan that has Cullen’s head whipping around.  A body ambles to life, and thank the Maker, Cullen had enough foresight to give the settlers left outside a funeral, or this could have been so much worse.

It makes more sense for Cullen to stay on the blood mage, and Dorian to handle the corpse, but Cullen catches Dorian’s eye, and they agree to do the opposite.  Cullen needn’t have worried.  Even with the power of sacrifice behind his spells, the blood mage is clearly outclassed.  There’s a fluidity to Dorian’s casting that the southern mage could never hope to duplicate.  It would be beautiful to watch, if Cullen didn’t have a corpse to deal with.

He slams his shield into it to push it back into the corner then ducks down under a flailing arm.  Cullen gives no ground until he has the reanimated body where he wants it, and can easily slice it’s head from it’s neck.  WIthout missing a beat, he spins to find they’ve been joined by some shades as well.  Dorian is keeping the mage too busy for him to have summoned them, there must be something about the house that draws them here.

It would explain why their adversary is so intent on keeping it to himself.

Cullen throws himself into the fray once more.  He keeps one eye on Dorian and uses his shield to direct the flow of battle.  He works his way around the room pushing shades into the path of Dorian’s spells while preventing them from getting too close.  It’s odd, but they fight well together.  Cullen never imagined that he could fight so seamlessly with a mage.

He does his best to create a bottleneck, but it’s clear the shades will keep coming until the blood mage is dealt with.  They need to end this now.

Which, is surprisingly easy.  The blood mage drifts into Cullen’s reach.  He’s winded, unused to fighting someone who can fight back.  Cullen slices through a shade, and into the mage’s shoulder, but has to let go of the sword and roll away to avoid Dorian’s well timed lightning spell.  The wound Cullen inflicted would be enough, but the lightning hastens the mage along to the Maker’s side.

Cullen waits for the shaking to stop before he retrieves his sword.

Dorian dispatches the last few shades with ease, and then it’s over.  He leans on his staff, and looks down at the smoldering body with disdain.  “He wasn’t particularly skilled.”

“No,” Cullen agrees.  “Just dangerous.”  He doesn’t feel triumphant; just empty.  More innocent people dead, and another blood mage at the root of it all.  They’d been so lucky with the rebel mages that Cullen had allowed himself to hope, but where there’s desperation and magic, blood is soon to follow.  He can only hope that when all of this is over, the work that the Inquisition has done with the mages will make a difference.

For now, they’ve done what they can to bring the killer of the settlers to justice, and perhaps because of their efforts, the town will be able to flourish once more.  It isn’t easy, and it isn’t clean, but it’s life.

Dorian’s already lost interest in the bodies and is moving further down the hall the shades appeared from.  Shaking his head, Cullen follows.  He’s wary, but it seems the danger has passed.  Safe or not, he has no intentions of spending more time than he has to in the burnt remains of his childhood home.  Too much has happened here for Cullen to feel comfortable in its confines.  He’ll let Dorian explore for now, but soon, he’ll raise the idea of going to Redcliffe to report in.

It’s time for them to wash their hands of this matter.  It’s time for them to go home, and maybe, start a better future.

_______

_Three days later:_

Redcliffe appears to be recovering well from its occupation by Alexius and the Rebel mages.

“Commander!   I didn’t receive word that you were coming.  I’ll have some quarters prepared for you immediately.  It looks like you two have had quite the trip.”  Cullen has only met Arl Teagan, who was still a Bann at the time, once, and he’s more than a little surprised that the man knows him on sight.  Cullen had been twelve.

Still, Cullen shakes his hand when it’s offered.  The Arl hesitates before shaking Dorian’s hand, causing a moment of awkward silence that Cullen hastens to fill.  “We’re not coming from Skyhold, I’m afraid, but Honnleath.   We’ve cleared up the issue that you wrote the Inquisitor about, and could use fresh horses for the trip home.  The town should be safe for settlers now.”

Dorian shakes Teagan’s hand like it’s a chore and rolls his eyes once the man has turned his back.  Even covered in blood and grime, Dorian is so very Tevinter, and it seems that Teagan’s memory isn’t a short one.  Cullen can only hope that he’s not holding so much of a grudge that he’ll deny them mounts.

“Were there more survivors?” Teagan asks hopefully, but Cullen shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not, Arl.  A blood mage had taken up in the town’s ruins and came across a, well, magical workshop, left behind by the villagers.  He caused your settlers to turn on each other, to deadly consequences.”

“The blood mage is dead, and we’ve sealed the workshop for now,” Dorian adds in, not one to be ignored.  “And in return for our risking our lives for your little problem, we’d like to ask that you allow the Inquisition to clear the building before you try and settle the area again.  There may be valuable research sealed within those wards.”

They don’t really need to ask, and Arl Teagan knows it.  They could have sent word to the Inquisition and had the entire workshop cleared out before Teagan even realized what he had.  It’s not a surprise when he agrees.  “Of course, if you believe the information there would be of service to the Inquisition, I am in your debt.”

“Well if you..” Dorian trails off when Cullen elbows him.  They trade dirty looks that the Arl misses as his attention is drawn away from them to his senshal.  Thank the Maker for small mercies.

“You’ll have to forgive me gentlemen, it seems an Arl’s work is never done.  Please, stay the night.  You look in dire need of a bit of rest and a good meal, both of which can be found within our walls.”

“I believe we’ll take you up on that Arl,” Dorian answers before Cullen can even open his mouth.  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Thank you both, for your aid in this sad matter.  My valet will get you situated.  We’ll talk more at the evening meal.”  He shakes their hands again, and this time there’s no hesitation when it comes to thanking Dorian.

Four hours later finds Cullen collapsing back into what might be the most comfortable bed he’s ever been in.  True to Teagan’s word, they’ve been treated well, with baths, fresh clothes, and a hearty meal.  Cullen’s belly is comfortably full, and now all he wants to do is sleep for the next twelve hours.

Of course, that’s when the side door to his room creaks open.  Cullen peels open an eyelid to find Dorian staring down at him.  Their gazes meet.  Cullen knows what’s coming next, and does nothing to stop it.  Dorian sits down on the edge of the bed and curls his fingers into Cullen’s hair before he leans down and presses their lips together.  This kiss has none of the animalistic edge of the blood mage’s vision, or any of the desperation of the kiss Cullen gave Dorian upon waking.

It is, in short, everything that Cullen dreamed it would be.  There’s hands in his hair, a mustache tickling his cheeks, and when Dorian does nip at his bottom lip, it’s a gentle tease that makes Cullen’s skin tingle.  Just as the kiss begins to heat up, Dorian pulls back and presses their foreheads together.  “You’re full of surprises, Commander.  I never imagined you would return my affections.  You never gave any indication.”

Cullen huffs.  “I never gave any indication?  Why did you think I was excusing myself every time you bent over to retrieve a book from the bottom shelf?  You..you’re the one that’s so hard to read.”

Dorian smiles, and his eyes seem to twinkle.  “I do like it when people enjoy my assets, and what’s not to enjoy really?  Why did you think I was always looking for books on the bottom shelf when you paid me a visit?”

“Well, consider your assets enjoyed.”  Cullen presses their lips back together in a quick, chaste kiss.  He revels in the closeness between them, but can’t help but pull back a little.  The kissing is nice, but Cullen has to know if Dorian truly feels the same way about him.  “Is...appreciation all that this is about?”

The look that Dorian gives him can only be called fond.  The mage’s fingers card through Cullen’s hair, and his other hand cups Cullen’s cheek.  “I’m afraid that it’s worse than that really.  I am utterly besotted with you Commander, even when you’re doing something foolish, like trying to spare that blood mage’s life.”

That’s not something Cullen is willing to address of yet, so he concentrates on the first part of Dorian’s confession.  “Good.  I love you too,” Cullen replies before Dorian can deny that he meant love, then swoops in for a third kiss.  This time he leaves chastity behind.  It’s a perfect mix of their first kiss, and their second.

There’s more they need to talk about, but Dorian’s weight settles in over Cullen’s own and rational thought flees Cullen’s mind.  Their borrowed sleeping clothes are thin, and he can feel Dorian’s arousal, heavy, upon his thigh.  It’s like a line of fire, even through the soft, cotton pants and Cullen can only wonder how Dorian will feel skin to skin.

Or perhaps he doesn’t have to wonder, because as Dorian’s talented tongue slips once more past Cullen’s lips, his fingers work their way under Cullen’s shirt.  Cullen has never considered himself to be sensitive, but the way Dorian’s touch causes him to writhe makes him reevaluate that belief.  When Dorian’s fingers tweak across his nipples, _Sweet Andraste,_ Cullen nearly bucks the mage right out of his lap.

Dorian smirks as Cullen groans, bears down, then does it again.  When the reaction is the same, he becomes relentless.  The wandering path his hands took before turns out to be a map on how to drive Cullen completely insane.  Cullen whimpers and ruts upwards against Dorian, but it’s not enough.  The brushes of contact only serve to make him more frustrated.

“My, my, Commander.  If I’d known you be so _receptive_ , I might have made a move earlier.”

Cullen huffs, and runs his thumb down the curve of Dorian’s chin, as if he still can’t believe that he’s allowed to touch.  “Might have saved the both of us quite a bit of pining if you had.”

“And why couldn't you have made the move?”  He turns in Cullen’s hold, to press a kiss to Cullen’s fingertips.  It’s strangely romantic, and Cullen can’t look away.

“Because I don’t deserve you.”

There’s a moment of silence where neither of them so much as breathe, then Dorian tweaks Cullen’s nipple, _hard_.  Cullen yelps loud enough to echo in the room, and both of them freeze again, this time casting their eyes towards the door.  The last thing either of them wants right now is to be caught by one of the guards that patrols the halls, in such a delicate position.

Cullen breaks first with a snort that has Dorian sending him so fond a look, that Cullen doesn’t know how he ever missed that his feelings were returned.  “Mark my words, Commander, we will be having a conversation about your conversation on a later date, during which you will have no choice but to admit I’m right, because I am always right, but I don’t think talking is what either of us really want to be doing for the moment.  Now, smile and say, ‘Yes, Dorian.’”

Cullen huffs, but complies with a small smile.  “Yes, Dorian.”

“Now, ‘I love you, Dorian.’”

“I love you, Dorian.”

“And now, ‘I’ll spend the rest of my life worshiping you, Dorian.”

 

“Don’t,” Cullen begins as he tangles his hand in the fabric of Dorian’s shirt and reels the mage in for a heated kiss.  It’s Dorian’s turn to whimper as Cullen doesn’t even give him the chance to retake control.  They’re panting when they break apart.  “Push your luck.”

“I’ll take what I can get as long as you keep kissing me like that,” Dorian hums against Cullen’s lips.

That’s something Cullen can do.  He closes the scant distance between them once more, and loses himself in the feeling of Dorian’s mouth.  He could spend hours just kissing, but Dorian has other plans.  Somehow, without Cullen even noticing, he gets a hand down Cullen’s pants and wraps his hand around his arousal.  Cullen arches into the touch, and groans as Dorian punctuates it with a nip to his lower lip.

“I knew you wouldn’t be a quiet one,” Dorian whispers into Cullen’s ear.  “I can’t wait to get you back on the way to Skyhold, where no one can hear us.”

Cullen slips his hands down Dorian’s sides, then underneath the waistband of his pants to give his ass a good squeeze.  Dorian grunts and ruts hard against Cullen’s hip, which in turn makes Cullen thrust up into the circle of his hand.   _Maker_ , it’s been so long.  He’s never going to last, but oh, how he wants it to.

“Now you’re just fighting dirty.  Hidden depths, Commander.” Dorian pulls back, only so far as to rest their foreheads together, and somehow the press of their bodies becomes more intimate.  Maintaining eye contact this close makes Cullen’s eyes want to cross, so he looks down between their bodies instead.  That’s a mistake.  Dorian is chiseled perfection, without a single scar to mar the planes of his chest and stomach, and his arousal is obvious, even if Cullen couldn’t feel the heat of it as Dorian’s thrusts make it drag over the juncture of his thighs.

“ _Maker’s breath_ , you’re beautiful,” Cullen swears, and almost regrets his snark earlier.  It’s blasphemous, but Cullen could spend every day of the rest of his life worshipping Dorian.

“I’ve fallen for a sap,” Dorian grouses, though it comes out more like a sigh.  They haven’t talked about what they experienced in their separate nightmares, but Cullen thinks that Dorian needs this just as much as Cullen does.  They need something to anchor themselves back in reality.  Dorian’s free hand grasps at Cullen’s shoulder and his breath comes in hitches and tiny gasps against Cullen’s lips.

They’re almost lazy in their movements.  Cullen strokes at whatever skin he can reach, before finally circling his fingers around Dorian’s arousal.  Even then, there’s a certain lassitude to it.  They’re not so much seeking completion, as they are relishing in each other’s touch.

Cullen’s so lost in Dorian, that when he comes, it takes him by surprise.  He hadn’t even noticed the build up of tension, but there he is, trembling as he spills over Dorian’s fist.  Dorian follows soon after and buries his face in the crook of Cullen's neck, as he rides through the aftershocks.

They never even bothered taking their clothes off and it’s the most intense sex Cullen’s ever had.  He feels absolutely wrecked.

Dorian collapses against his chest making it hard to breathe, and Cullen’s pants stick uncomfortably against his groin.  There, would be the downside to not taking one’s clothes off beforehand.    He pokes at Dorian until the mage rolls over and fits himself against Cullen’s side.  “I take back what I said earlier,” Dorian pouts.  “Romance is truly dead.”

Cullen lets out an exhausted snort and turns to press a kiss to Dorian’s forehead.  “There will be time for romance on the way back to Skyhold.  I could court you properly, if you’d like.”

He feels more than sees Dorian’s smile.  “I’ve never been courted.  I’ll hold you to that, but for now, I should go lest we scandalize the maid in the morning.”

He makes to stand, but Cullen tightens his arms around Dorian.  “Stay.  If it matters so much, then I’ll wake you early.”

Dorian looks conflicted, but he makes no more effort to move.  “You drive a hard bargain.  Very well, I’ll stay put, but neither of us are sleeping in these pants.”  That’s a condition that Cullen can agree with.  Dorian’s already shimmying out of the sullied clothing, and relieved, Cullen follows suit.  They settle down together again, Cullen on his back and Dorian curled around him.

Dorian is asleep before Cullen can even tuck the blankets around them, but for Cullen it’s more elusive.  His ghosts are still as present as they’ve always been.  They lurk in the corners of his vision and remind him of his failures.  Cullen’s stronger now though, and with Dorian’s voice to guide him from the dark, he can fight.  He will fight.

He’ll fight for the Inquisition, he’ll fight for Dorian, and Cullen will fight for himself.  He needs his ghosts, to remind him of the depths he’s capable of, but he doesn’t need to let them take him.

“Stop thinking, amatus, and go to sleep,” Dorian’s sleepy grumble interrupts Cullen’s train of thought.

“Amatus?  What does that mean?”

“That we’re both sappy idiots.  Now, go to sleep.  There will be plenty of time for worrying in the morning.”

“Yes, Dorian.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for reading! This was a fun little project. Who knew a one word prompt could end in 10k of fic? A big thank you to my beta, sonofhousepavus for encouragement, and her hard work adding all the commas I skip (among many other corrections). Thank you as well to noxfauna for the awesome illustration, and putting up with my procrastination on the last couple scenes. Last thanks goes to the organizers of the event. Be sure to check out fyeahcullrian on tumblr for all the other entries!
> 
> As always, I can be found on tumblr @ mostlyharmlessgaming.


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